


Transit

by rilina



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Coffee, Gen, Gift Fic, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-16
Updated: 2007-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 06:40:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rilina/pseuds/rilina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one likes airports, not even Gundam pilots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Edonohana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edonohana/gifts).



> Spoilers for series. Winter gift fic for edonohana. Many thanks to springgreen for the beta.

As always, the spaceport authorities have the air conditioning at full blast, and Trowa's seat is located under a vent. Thirty minutes, he thinks. Thirty minutes until the entire crew boards a ship bound for Earth, as the circus relocates for the summer season. Of course, there's every chance the freighter won't be any cozier; they usually aren't. He leans his head back against the wall and tries not to shiver.

Catherine notices anyway. Maybe his hands betray him, curled as they are in the sleeves of his turtleneck. She wraps her warm fingers around his cold ones, and says, “Hey, I'm getting some coffee. Want one?” He nods, and she's up immediately, purse slung over her shoulder, off to the nearest concession stand.

Times like these remind him that he's broken, probably irrevocably so. Trowa may no longer be a Gundam pilot, but he's still paying the price for having been one. His memories have been back for years, but the dread of cold remains, prickling at the back of his neck and the bottom of his gut. It's ridiculous. He can stare down an enemy mobile suit even when he's out of ammo, but a mere drop in temperature makes him shrink inside his skin.

Earth will be better, Trowa tells himself. It's summer where they're headed. The days will be long and sweaty; the nights will be mild enough that he can kick off his bedcovers. And best of all, there'll be real sunlight, fierce enough to burn and oh-so-welcome after the colonies' weak sunlamps.

The promise of summer isn't enough to keep the panic from rising in the back of his throat. His pulse speeds up; he looks for Catherine, but she's still in line, tapping the toe of her shoe. He forces himself to breathe deep and focuses on old memories. Those weeks in the Mediterranean, following Heero on that pigheaded quest for absolution from the Noventa family--how the sun shone down upon them. And before that, at the very beginning of the war, there was the desert, Quatre, and the bitter punch of Turkish coffee.

It was so long ago, but it's enough to sustain him until Catherine returns. He gratefully accepts the cup she offers him, and for a long moment he just cradles it in his palms, feeling the heat seep through the cheap cardboard. Then Catherine pokes his shoulder, laughing, and says, “Coffee's for drinking, silly.” She reaches over, cracks back the tab in the flimsy plastic lid. “Drink up.”

The coffee’s probably stewed in the pot for hours; it's little more than sludge. Still, it's hot enough to scald the roof his mouth as he drinks. It's the most wonderful thing he's tasted all day.

“Thanks, sister.” He manages the smile that's only for her, and some of the worry drains from her face. She leans back in her own uncomfortable seat and closes her eyes.

“Wake me up when we're boarding?”

“Will do.”

Her shoulder's solid beside his own; her breathing steadies as she slides into sleep. Trowa sips his horrible coffee and feels his heartbeat return to normal. These days he believes in thaws, since he can remember being warm.


End file.
